


Love, Damned Love, and Statistics

by justonemorefic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Asexual Character, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Harry Potter Next Generation, Humor, Platonic Romance, Romance, Yule Ball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:19:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justonemorefic/pseuds/justonemorefic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James is writing the book on love. Naturally, it's the peak time for irony.</p><p>
  <i>A Yule Ball un-fairy tale.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Shares the same universe as _And Capers Ensue_ , which is set two years later.

For all its decorations and picturesque weather, Yule Ball season was not a pretty sight. No amount of tinsel and baubles could cover up the embarrassment of lunchtime mingling. The foreign allure of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang visitors was too much for the resident Hogwarts students to _not_ make a fool of themselves.

In the case of James Potter, Fred Weasley, and Ellian Cearney, making a fool of themselves was _the point_.

The pursuit was somewhat noble: find out which wooing tactics worked and which didn't so that blokes could be spared the terrible humiliation of a rejection.

But it was mostly about the profit. 

James thought of the idea after his dream girl of the moment declined his invitation to the ball. She was — in no shortage of vagueness or brevity — "busy".

The following day, she agreed to go with Lloyd Finkleton.

"I don't understand what went wrong," James muttered. "I did everything right." He turned to one bespectacled Ellian Cearney, who was fast at work on a History of Magic essay. " _Everything._ "

"As shocking as it sounds, there do exist girls who are able to resist your many charms." 

"But there's a method! It's _foolproof_. A certain smile, a certain walk, certain words. James Potter's Proven — "

"Proven Practices for Pursuing Partners, yeah I know. A shorter term for it is _charisma_."

She didn't even have the decency to humor him. James sat sulking the rest of the night, flicking around Kneazle treat crumbs at Mr. Welly. He was doomed to languish until, at the stroke of nine, he struck a most enterprising thought.

If _his_ ego was so terribly bruised after that experience, there must have been _thousands_ of others in the same situation who wanted to know why they struck out.

"We should make a guide!" he told Fred the next morning. "Muggles know a lot about this sort of thing. They've got shelves — hell, _whole libraries_ — of just dating advice books. We're looking at an untapped market here with wizards!"

Fred thought it was bollocks, but Fred thought _everything_ was bollocks at first. James tactfully ignored him and continued on with the idea as if it were perfectly sound. Eventually, he talked about it so much that the idea started sounding almost decent to Fred. (James Potter Pro-tip: One should proceed with confidence, even if the course of action is complete rubbish; one cannot persuade others without persuading oneself!)

Though James was quite grateful for his cousin's standards; he never knew Fred as less than necessary — the ever vigilant wingman.

"If we're going to make a book, we're should do it the proper way," said Fred during a suppertime brainstorm. "Have some hard facts to back it up. Might as well make the whole effort count."

There Fred went, complicating things again with his _common sense_ and _practicality_. But he was right — they needed organization. Statistics, perhaps. James had always been fond of these little numbers wherever they popped up, so simple yet powerful (50% off sales at Gladrags Wizardwear sent girls flocking; if only he could attach the same sign to himself and have that happen just the same).

Alas, there arose a problem. Who to help with the math? Fred, though well-educated from his accounting days at his father's shop, was reluctant to do the work on something so ridiculous. James was going to have to find help elsewhere. He briefly considered Bea, a Ravenclaw in Albus' year who had been helping him and Fred develop Wheezes products, but as arithmetic-minded as she was, she also had the organization skills of a tornado.

That left Ellian.

"James, this is your most idiotic idea yet."

"Even after the asparagus-flavored butterbeer fiasco last year?"

This time, James had interrupted Ellian's Herbology essay. The girl was just essay after essay, and he was fairly sure her quill was now a permanent feature of her hand.

He, on the other hand, was sprawled across the library desk in front of her vexed glare. She would have been reading her supplement _The Life Cycle of the Peruvian Spotted Fungus_ had he not been forcing the book down every time he tried to further the conversation. 

_Persistence_ followed _persuasion_ in his list of skills.

Ellian didn't reply. She just rolled her eyes, shaking her head in that way loosened the hair tucked behind her ears (she would push it back again in no small haste).

It only took him until later that night to convince her with his oh-so-charming smile... and possibly, the new set of parchment and quills he put on her desk. It was a re-gift of a Christmas present from Aunt Audrey which, with its enthusiastic use of curly florals, was definitely not missed. 

Ellian's official excuse for agreeing was that she couldn't resist the idea of a social experiment. She was one of those analytical types, and James always wondered if the Sorting Hat didn't make a mistake sorting her into Gryffindor. She always seemed more of a Ravenclaw, like Fred, though James would never complain. It was tricky enough planning escapades with one of his best mates in a different house; he couldn't stand to have both of them elsewhere.

But James knew her real reason. It was mostly about the profit.

As luck would have it, their plan coincided with the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students for the Triwizard Tournament, which tripled their subject pool. They whipped up a plan for attack. Originally it was just James braving the turbulent waters of love but when Ellian mentioned off-handedly that it would be nice to get multiple results, he jumped on the chance to drag Fred down with him. 

"Oi, no," said Fred, sinking into his blazer. "Nothing you say will convince me."

It didn't hold true for long; James could convince anyone. He reckoned his dad had some secret Veela blood he never knew about.

Sure enough, when they put the plan into motion, Fred was right there beside him, grumbling.

"It's for your own good," said James, punching his shoulder. "Not an old dog yet. Go learn some new tricks."

And so, off they went, dazzling girls with spells, showing off their Quidditch muscles, and pretending to be sensitive. Meanwhile, Ellian recorded all the information they sent back, trying her best to make sense of the boys' chaos.

It wasn't easy with James pestering her while she worked. His favorite activity: sifting through her piles of parchment and pulling them out at random. He was never one to make heads or tails of the charts and check-boxes underneath her hand, enough to make anyone dizzy. It impressed him because it was like magic to him, though Ellian assured him it was the complete opposite of magic.

"That's one voluptuous graph," he said one evening with a low whistle, staring at the diagram she was working on.

"Normal people call it a bell curve," she said smoothly over the scratch of her quill.

Of course, James never _really_ bothered her, or at least she hardly ever pointed it out. Ellian wouldn't be Ellian if she didn't speak her mind far more than necessary, though it was never in complaint. Sometimes she even smiled, as if she were genuinely amused by how senseless he could get.

James took this as an excuse to act as ridiculous as he could possibly be. When he informed her of this, her only response was a laugh.

But not at him. _With_ him. He laughed, too.

The big question for that week was the success rate of the notoriously fickle pick-up line. They tried everything from the cheesy to the flattering to the vaguely inappropriate. 

James scanned the courtyard as throngs of girls poured out of the Great Hall post-lunch. His keen eye spotted a lone blonde reading on a bench. A romance, from the looks of it.

He slid over and swung his arm over her shoulder, causing her to jump up in surprise. " _Hello_ , beautiful," he drawled, carefully adjusting his gaze for maximum appeal. "Can you call a healer? Because I think you stopped my heart."

The girl shrank from him, crinkling her brow. "Are you not zat creep boy who told me to feel ze muscles of your arm las' week?"

James realized her unsettled I'm-going-to-hex-you-with-mace frown _did_ seem familiar. He improvised a coughing fit and excused himself, looking back only when he was safe inside the castle.

As he walked along the outer hallway, he craned his head and tried spot her through the windows. She stuck out with her bright yellow scarf. He made a mental note.

Yellow scarf-girls had a tendency to be nutty anyway — not that he wanted to generalize; statistically speaking (although according to Ellian, he was hardly qualified to use the phrase), there was a spike of crazy when it came to yellow scarf-wearing girls.

Or blokes. The blokes were even nuttier. 

"Oi!" 

James spun around, knocking into Fred — and Fred's danish, which flew gracefully onto his forehead.

Fred cleared his throat and extracted his smashed pastry from James' face. "I was calling you from way back there. What the heck were you staring at?"

"I've already hit on the same girl twice." James wiped his brow of jam and took a taste. Strawberry. "I think we ought to call it quits now. We've got a lot to work with already."

"Thank Merlin."

"Can't keep up with all the ladies throwing themselves at you?" 

"More like can't wait to stop acting like such a bloody fool," Fred muttered, rubbing his shoulder. "If we weren't up to odd things every other week, people would figure we've gone mental."

James raised a finger. "What is love but going mental?"

"Very philosophical."

As Fred turned his head, James caught a glimpse of pink on his cousin's collar. "Oi, what've we got here?" He grabbed at Fred, who tried to swat him away, and then broke out in a grin as the shape of the mark confirmed his guess: lipstick. "Come on, who is she?"

Fred scowled but then joined the stupid-grin club. "It's Prietta Laroque."

"The 'Batons beauty?" James whistled. "Looks like the pupil has become the master." He always suspected Fred had a weakness for the glamorous sort, stunning bombshells with better-than-perfect figures and legs a mile long. But then again, who didn't?

"She likes soft piano," he said dreamily, "and perfect circles and — "

"Your soul mate; I got it, Fred. Hold the waxing lyrical. Where's Ellian?"

"Thought she was with you. That's why I came looking."

Thankfully for the both of them, they didn't need to look any further than the next corner. James hadn't noticed her at first. He certainly wasn't expecting her to be at the center of a group of Durmstrang boys... flirting?

"No, no I can't — shut it Steven, I know where you live," she laughed. "If I don't have a plan, _maybe_. You know I don't like dances."

They were asking her to the Ball.

James didn't know what was going on with his hands. They were restless, flighty, like they suddenly wanted to smack the whole lot of blokes away. Not that he was possessive. Ellian wasn't his. And he wasn't planning to ask her, so...

Perhaps he didn't like the _prospect_ of her being taken away. He liked his options open and Ellian was an option and now that option was threatened.

Yes, that was it.

Besides, he knew where the train of emotions would be headed otherwise: butterflies, stuttering, sweat, and that lurching pull from the underside of his heart. But that was impossible. This was Ellian _romantic-as-a-fencepost_ Cearney; there was no station to dock said train. The destination _didn't exist_.

It was the ball. Right, right, that bloody ball — and maybe how she'd been biting her quill lately. But he wouldn't cheapen their friendship by suddenly wanting her _now,_ when his sudden flutteriness was obviously the product of desperation. All this talk of dates and love. Ellian was like a sister.

Well, no. He didn't want to ship her off to Bulgaria. 

But the rest of the metaphor fit. And to prove it, he strode confidently forward, feelings-free, and nearly walked straight into a first-year carrying her weight in textbooks when Ellian flashed a bright smile.

Fred pulled him out of the way at the last second (not that it mattered; poor girl toppled over five steps later). "You really aren't paying attention today."

"I'm paying lots of attention. Er, look, there's Ellian."

"Yeah, she's only right in front of us."

It seemed that Ellian had spotted them too as she was now walking toward them. Were her hips sashaying? Should he care?

"Hey, James. Fred. I've got the data on — " She waved a hand in front of James. "What are you staring at?"

Your hips. "Your... hair. Did you get a haircut?"

Her eyes squinted at the edges as her lips pursed into a circle. "Okay, what's up?"

"What?" blinked James. Her eyes were also a lovely green and lips pink. He had a rule about looking at a girl's eyes. Once a bloke started describing them with any non-color adjective, it was the beginning of the end — nonsense about pianos and circles and other love-struck poetry.

"I don't have to say it. I could have Mr. Welly attached to the side of my head and you wouldn't notice."

He couldn't refute her; that actually happened once. "Well, your hair looks nice."

She gave him a look. Fred gave him a look. Did he sound that panicked?

"Thanks." Ellian drew her gaze away and onto the parchments in her hand. "Anyway, I have the stats on last week's tests. Fred's actually more successful on average — "

Fred raised a brow. James snatched the page with a frown. The rows of numbers were like Goblin to him, but even he could understand the graphs at the very bottom. Fred's bars were blue and his were red, and blue topped red every time.

"Obviously, fifth year girls are easier than sixth year girls," he muttered, scanning through the symbols for a mistake. He didn't know what he was looking for, but surely there's be something _glaring_ wrong.

Smugness tugged his cousin's lips into a smirk. "What happened to 'pupil has become the master'?"

"I was being charitable."

Ellian muffled a laugh with the back of her hand. "You're very charming. Fred's very charming. Let's leave it at that."

James' stomach growled, unsatisfied with the lick of jam, so he was ready to drop the matter in favor of lunch. If only Ellian hadn't continued.

"Though if I had just met you two, I honestly think I'd like Fred better."

On top of James' frown was a glare to Fred, who bowed his head boyishly. "Aw thanks, Ells."

When James opened his mouth to protest, Ellian stopped him by drawing his chin back up with a thumb (Call a healer. His heart stopped). "Because Fred's got that earnestness that girls find cute," she said, answering his unasked question.

He pouted. "I'm earnest."

"Earnest, charitable; you're a lot of things today, aren't you?" She pat his cheek. "Oh, James."

At some point, while his thoughts were disabled by the warmth of her hand, Ellian had left the space in front of him and had started walking toward the Great Hall with Fred.

"Coming, James?" She glanced back for only a moment, so that James could only see her eyes flutter softly like the first snowflake of —

He gulped.


	2. Getting The Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the face of sudden love, James Potter _thought_.

In the face of sudden love, James Potter _thought_.

His thinking was not the same sort of thinking Ellian did, though — that would be very silly indeed. Love in graphs and numbers and rationalization. No one would ever describe him as rational. _Planning_ was a more precise term. One had to sort out matters of the heart with careful considerations of the risk and reward. This was the bit that everyone missed. It was how Romeo and Juliet died. How Troy burned.

Ellian was too important to simply _follow his gut_. She was his best mate, next to Fred — maybe even better than Fred. She smelled nicer and always had an extra quill handy. James knew enough to worry about what would happen if she didn't fancy him back.

But how to approach the problem?

He ought to tell her. Sensible. _Boring._

He could wait and see if the feeling went away. No, that never went well.

Then he had a tiny side of him that wanted to burst through the common room doors and sweep Ellian away in a trail of rose petals. She would be reading on the left side of the sofa as she always did, where the cushion was dented. There would be exactly two hundred and fifty petals — conjured, of course (Neville wouldn't be too keen at the idea of James plucking away at his prized rosebushes). And, as the finale, they'd fly out the window on his broomstick into the sunset.

James didn't know why he found that appealing, nor why that specific fantasy was so detailed, but it was very worrying. Ellian was his best mate (sorry, Fred); he wasn't supposed to have notions like that about his best mate. Especially because she'd probably scold him for interrupting her reading and for making a mess in the common room, and that looking directly into sunsets was bad for the retinas.

Perhaps it was best to observe her first. See if Ellian would be receptive to his feelings. With Project No Date Left Behind underway, James already knew how to conduct an experiment of his own, and he'd seen enough reactions from girls to decipher good from bad — even if Ellian wasn't _just_ any girl.

He did enjoy a challenge.

* * *

After James' Wizard set refused to play (one too many games of suicide chess), he and Fred had to borrow Ellian's Muggle chessboard. They practically rearranged the entire sofa to build their cushion-table; one couldn't underestimate the quality of prime chess-game seating. Ellian was content to finalize the data in the meantime — on the rug, flat on her stomach, and legs jutting out in a yoga position, all while reading one of the many parchments that surrounded her in a circle like some cultist ritual.

Just another day in the Gryffindor common room.

While Fred took another eternity to figure out his next move, James hung off the the side of the sofa. "Oi, Ell. What are you going to do about the ball?"

She did not look up, quite used to the habit of not humoring him, whether he wanted to be humored or not. "What about it?"

"Are you going?"

"You are very aware that I don't like dances."

He did, but what about those blokes in the hallway? James cleared his throat; upside down, it was like forcing a watery hair ball up against gravity. "But I, uh, I don't know if you changed your mind."

She curved her legs toward each other until they touched — a new position for a new parchment. "You are also aware that I don't tend to change my mind."

"Would you do it for me?"

This made her look straight at him. "Change my mind or go to the ball?"

He should have said the latter, but what came out of his mouth was, "Change your mind."

She rolled her eyes upwards (downwards?) before returning to the parchment. "Don't be so full of yourself, James."

There was a sudden blip in her expression that James swore he saw, but girls were hard enough to decipher right side up and without all the blood rushing to his head.

Fred peered over the chessboard at him, causing the cushions to slant. A few pawns tumbled off the side. "Have you asked anyone to the ball yet?"

"Uh, well, no." Very carefully, James launched himself back into a sitting position. A dozen spots swarmed his vision. "No big deal though; I've got girls lining up. Yeah." Twisting around, he tried to glance at Ellian's expression, but a giant black blob obscured her head. "Like, um... Miranda Twinner."

"Miranda Twinner, who was snogging Walt in the library earlier?"

"That pock-faced twit?" James whispered with horror, shaking his head and blinking. The spots faded away. It didn't matter; Ellian still wasn't paying attention. How was he supposed to gauge her jealousy if he couldn't even see her expression?

Maybe he could ask Uncle George to make a draught that turned people green when they got jealous. They could make _millions — !_

He smacked the side of his head, which echoed with a resounding thump. Matter at hand first.

Smoothing over his momentary profit fantasies as best as he could, James continued, "Well, uh, Miranda was kind of iffy. I also heard — _what's her name_ — Cora! Cora's interested."

Fred scratched his brow. "Cora went home for the holidays."

"...oh." James needed to figure out some proper signals with Fred. He hadn't told Fred about Ellian, but for Godric's sake! Fred was his wingman; he ought to have figured it out by now.

"It's a bit late. Why don't you just go with Ellian?"

Fred's words brought out the first real reaction in Ellian, who threw back her head and laughed; perhaps he wasn't so useless after all.

James blinked, mouth agape, but she didn't see as she promptly resumed looking at her scribbles, tucking her hair behind her ear. "James wouldn't want to go with me," she said.

James scrunched up his brows. "I wouldn't?"

"You like arm candy," she said, shrugging, before turning swiftly to Fred. "So, who are you going with?"

"Wait, but — "

Fred's dreamy sigh overshadowed James. " _Prietta Laroque_ , fairest of them all." He snapped up suddenly. "Oh bugger, I told her I'd meet her right now."

Fred plunked his piece down onto the board and scrambled off the sofa. He was out of the common room before James could examine the board properly.

"Oi, you moved the rook _diagonally!_ " James yelled after him. Snorting to herself, Ellian gave no sympathy.

A line of phantom sweat trickled down the back of his neck. They were alone now, he noticed.

Things _happened_ when two people were alone.

Alone with only his beating heart to interrupt, his brain to shut down, and his mouth to spill something he'd regret later. He was just sitting there; how were there still so many ways to go wrong?

James took in a deep breath for courage and flopped belly-down onto the carpet beside Ellian. "Arm candy?" he said. "What are you saying, Ells? That I only like pretty girls?"

She arched a brow. At the same time, she lifted his elbow away from the parchment it was crushing. "That would mean you're saying I'm not pretty enough for you."

Public enemy no. 1 of conversation topics. "N-no! I just thought — "

"I know." Her lips curved into a smile, chuckling, and she patted the back of his hand. "I just meant that I know I'm not your type. At least not your going-out-with type."

But she was so wrong. Amazingly wrong. James stared at her ink-stained fingers that slipped away too soon. All he needed was to say a few words. _You're the most impossibly, frustratingly beautiful girl I've ever met..._ Figuratively, anyway.

There were much more beautiful girls than Ellian, but none quite as frustrating. That was the difference.

He opened his mouth. Courage failed him. He would find it again a minute later, but the moment had already passed.

* * *

At the next morning's breakfast, Ellian showed James their experiment's final reports. She took a seat next to him while he was in the middle of inhaling half of his plate, and the combination of his fluttering heart and constricting windpipe nearly suffocated him as the food went down.

"It's pretty good stuff actually." Ellian passed him the papers. "Mostly common knowledge, but we discovered quite a few social patterns that aren't too well-documented. Girls tend to react positively to the word 'orange' — I never would've guessed. That and 'chocolate', but _I_ could've told you that. And then there's this..."

James was suddenly struck with an awful thought. "What about the people who end up falling in love?"

She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "It's not really the point of our studies, is it?"

"But... to give advice on picking up girls but not what happens afterwards — that's _irresponsible!_ " James only understood love's keen head-warping, hormone-pumping sting after this dreadful holiday. "If people read this and fall in love, then what? I haven't told them how to deal with it!"

He certainly wished someone would tell _him_ how to deal with it; he'd even share some of his profit. 

"I'm sure whoever your readership is, they'll manage." Ellian patted his cheek; she had taken to doing that lately. Maybe it meant something. "Life doesn't exactly have an instruction manual, James."

He was so close to pressing his hand against hers until she continued blithely, "'sides, billions of people have figured out love before you existed. That is... generally how you exist."

James shuddered. Sometimes he wished Ellian never corrected him about where babies came from; he was never quite the same after that day in third year. The stork story made more sense, anyway.

"How do they know?" He slumped onto an arm, a bite of cereal still stuck in his cheek. He had forgotten to keep chewing. "How do _you_ know you're in love?"

Ellian blinked. "Eh?"

"Um," he stuttered, cursing inwardly. If these blunders kept up, he'd be proposing to her in song by the end of the week. "I mean, blokes aren't really taught how to handle feelings."

"Am I supposed to know because I'm a girl?" She was mimicking his position with one arm on the table, but she somehow made it seem enchanting with her curved lips pressed against her fingers and her nose slightly crinkled. If he could sell a book on how she was doing _that_ , he'd make even more millions.

"You're supposed to know because you know everything."

She sighed and a sheepish laugh seemed to ring through her words. "If I _must_. I think... I think love is when someone who makes you happy when you see them or think about them. And you want to make them happy. Like your best mate."

"But there's more than that, right?"

Ellian shrugged. "I don't see a difference. But I don't know if there's something more out there yet, either. Who knows?" She bit her lip. "Sorry, you probably weren't looking for an answer like that."

No, but he hadn't asked the right question.

Does that mean you love me?

* * *

James tugged at his collar and tie, standing proudly in front of the framed photo of his namesake. It hung alongside other notable Gryffindors in the common room, a whole collection of oval and rectangle frames. For the most part, they were celebratory pictures, taken at Quidditch victories and end-of-the-year parties. Sometimes, he liked to stand in front of them and pretend they were clapping for him.

Finding Granddad's seventh year photo was one of the first things he did when he arrived at Hogwarts in his first year (twelve frames from the floor, three to the right, just underneath one of a young McGonagall). He had no problem spotting him; there was no mistaking the charismatic, mischievous grin that mirrored his own.

"Dad told me my granddad went stag to his first dance, too," James said as Fred approached.

"Yeah, but only 'cause your Gram kept rejecting him."

If only Fred knew how close the stories ran.

Granted, Ellian couldn't reject James if he didn't ask her. He was still working on that part. She was so close, yet so far away, sitting in a desk to his right and scritch-scratching her quill.

His eyes flicked forward before either she or Fred could notice him staring at her. "I'll manage. I'm _James Sirius Potter._ "

"It is a very confident name," Fred said with a nod. "I still wonder what your mum and dad were on when they had Albus."

A voice called from the boys' dorms. "Hey! I happen to be named after _highly-respected war heroes!_ "

"So am I, but you don't see _me_ needing to mention that at every introduction!" James yelled back. 

After a bout of loud stomping, Albus appeared around the corner of the staircase, cheeks red and puffy. He had decided to go to the Yule Ball last minute and had gone diving into James' wardrobe for a pair of shoes to fit his growing feet.

Just as Albus opened his mouth wide to retort, he spotted Ellian and paled, looking fit to faint. "H-hi Ellian." He gave a little wave as he shuffled down the steps nervously. "I didn't know you were — um, could I talk to you p-privately for a moment?"

James saved him the trouble. "If you're going to ask her to the ball, she already has a date." He waggled his eyebrows like dancing flobberworms, just as creepily as Uncle George had taught him. " _Lots_ of dates. Durmstrang boys."

The quivering fourth year's eyes grew as wide as saucers.

" _James._ " The glare Ellian gave him was far less amused than his own. "I don't think I'm going, actually," she said hastily. "And your brother's just talking nonsense. They're my cousin's friends — awful silly lot."

James couldn't help but smile to himself. He _knew_ there was a proper explanation for that crowd! 

Albus pulled himself slowly back up along the banister. "Er... well, never mind then." 

"I'm sorry, Albus. It's very sweet of you, though — "

He had already ran off. Shaking her head, Ellian's attention immediately went down to her papers again, without a single look at James, whose grin dropped.

All right, it was a little mean but, "You should turn him down properly for once. Poor kid's fancied you since you visited last summer. It's _weird._ "

"He only fancies me because I defend him from you." Her voice was unexpectedly stern. "You should stop abusing him so." 

"Or the more obvious solution: he needs to learn to be a man, right?"

"He was _going_ to ask me before you so eagerly interrupted him." She jabbed the end of her quill at him, flecking ink onto her sleeve. "Give him credit. He's a lot less shy than he used to be, but it'd be even better if you'd stop making it harder for him. Just accept that he's never going to be like you."

A itch crept up James' neck like a spider of guilt, sticking to his shoulders. They never had much of a fight before; this was usually as far as it got — some sharp reprimand to put him back into place. Though it didn't take Dumbledore to know that James had the tendency to act like he owned the world, few people pointed it out as bluntly as she did.

But it didn't feel like another one of those times. James was feeling quite low in the world, in fact. It wasn't until later when he sat himself down and really _thought_ (a full fifteen percent of his brain in use) that knew the reason behind his sudden outburst.

Even his timid little Hufflepuff brother had the guts to ask Ellian to the ball.

* * *

_Scritch-scratch, scritch-scratch._

James had never known such restlessness until that hour. With everyone else caught up in the Yule Ball frenzy, he had little to distract himself that day besides Ellian's company. At least she had proved to be exceptionally distracting lately.

His chin was flat on the table as he watched her draw neat bar graphs onto the parchment. "Am I bothering you? I feel like I'm bothering you."

She dipped her quill into the inkwell and siphoned off the extra ink by the rim. It dripped down in thick black rolls. "I am tolerating your existence, like I do every other day." 

James checked his time-piece again. It was still eight hours until the ball. Eight more hours of staring at Ellian.

His thoughts had been wandering far and wide back in time. He needed to know — when had he first fallen in love with her? She seemed very much the same Ellian Cearney he had known for the past six years. He just noticed her a bit more. A lot more.

There was young Ellian with a face full of frosting on the Hogwarts Express. She had tripped onto the trolley, but everyone had thought she had devoured a cauldron cake whole. Mostly his fault. (Entirely his fault.)

"I'm sorry I ever called you the Chubby Cake Monster."

_Scritch-scratch._ "That was years ago, James."

Then there was third year, when James had charmed the fifth eye onto her forehead after learning what four-eyes meant.

"And five-eyed hydra." The hydra part had been added in just for good measure.

_Scritch-scratch, scritch-scratch._ "I don't even remember that."

He couldn't recall what prompted 'spawn of Aragog', but he remembered being rather proud of that one. "And spawn of — "

" _James._ " _Scritch-scratch._

"I think I love you."

_Squeak._

Full, utter silence. James couldn't even hear his heart beat — just a vacuum of sound as the seconds crept past like time had stopped, freezing Ellian in place with too much fringe in her face and an inscrutable expression behind it.

Suddenly, the incessant sound of her quill picked up again. "Stop joking around," Ellian whispered. "I need to get these charts done."

The racing thunder of his veins threatened to explode with the broken silence. There was no way he was letting her slip away like sand now, with her little smiles and cheek-patting that made him go weak. "I wasn't joking. You should stop making assumptions, Ell. It's your worst quality."

_Scritch-scritch-scratch._ "I have far worse qualities than that."

"Like completely missing the point?" James slid forward on the table, a little closer to her failing facade of calm. 

"I was deflecting. There's a difference." Her scribbling quickened. "Besides, you don't know what love is."

He craned his head lower to peer at her face. "You told me what love is."

_Scritch-scratch, scritch-scratch._

"Ellian." He reached over and stopped her hand.

She glanced up just as James leaned forward. He didn't think he had ever seen her so nervous. She was calm and collected and certain of herself but never nervous.

Her breath tickled his nose, soft and warm, before it turned cold with a sharp inhale. "James, I — "

Ellian turned away, smiling almost sadly, and a tiny chuckle escaped like a hiccup. She had been laughing quite a lot that week at him, he remembered. He had done much to be laughed at. But the single most important detail about her seemed to have slipped his mind until then.

She laughed when she was nervous.

"James, I'm sorry. I can't."


	3. Getting the Girl to the Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wondered if half the reason he fancied her was just because she was so _bad_ at this (rather sadistic of him, no surprise).

"I... don't like you that way."

Six words (six and a half, counting the contraction). Six words to make his heart lurch with his greatest fear, for the common room to spin and topple like thousands of bricks.

Ellian had her eyes shut very tightly, bracing for _something_ from him, but James wasn't sure what that something was either. His chest had become a void, airless and vast, and somewhere floating in limbo, his heart struggled to breathe.

But James wasn't sad-and-rejected as much as worried. He had crossed _the line_ and there was no redrawing of _the line_. Even though he and Ellian would always be friends no matter what — he wouldn't have blurted out his love otherwise — they weren't going to be the same. They were going to be... _awkward_. Hell, it was awkward right now. He'd start on damage control but there were no fancy words, no James Potter Plan to weasel out of this.

One step at a time, he supposed with a cracking sigh.

First thing: Ellian still looked as if she were about to get hit by a train.

James put on the brakes and sat back in his seat. "That's okay," he mumbled wearily.

Ellian opened one eye. "It's okay?" She spoke delicately. James appreciated the thought considering her usual bluntness.

"It's okay."

She bit her lip. "Really?"

"Really."

" _...really_ okay?"

"Ells."

"Right, um." She pushed up her glasses, eyes darting around the less awkward nooks of the common room, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Look, maybe you should ignore this. There's probably something wrong with me. I mean, everyone except Professor Ringleward likes you, and we all know that — "

" — Ringleward only likes prune juice," James and Ellian both finished.

They both smiled a little.

"I had a hunch that you might, you know," she mouthed the taboo word, " _fancy me._ " Head bowed, she tapped her fingers at the edge of the table, and it sounded suspiciously like Morse code for S.O.S. "I just didn't want to face it, 'cause then... this."

Ellian flapped her arms. _This_ was currently him and her and a stack of data that grew more ironic by the second.

James scooted his chair around the table and pushed the papers away. As much as he wanted to grab her hands (they were right there, all two of them), he kept his heart at bay. "Is that why you've been like that the past week?"

"Like what?" 

He mirrored her arms, flapping them like a goose. "Nervous."

"Oh." A touch of that nervousness painted her voice, maybe from his sudden movement, maybe from the fact that their knees were nearly knocking together. "You could tell?"

"Ells, I'd be ashamed of myself if I didn't."

He didn't, but in retrospect, he _could_ have and that was almost the truth. 

As her cheeks returned to a more normal shade, James hunched forward with his chin sitting atop both hands and ventured into less cautious territory. "Can you say what you do feel then?" 

Ellian took in a deep breath that seemed to swell like a soundtrack, culminating in an anti-climatic "...no."

She bit her lip. Morse-code tapping. "I mean, I don't know. Um, well, it's hard to describe. It's... I love spending time with you. And humoring your stupid ideas — "

"Hey! They are _not_ — all right, they're pretty stupid. Go on."

Running her fingers through her hair, Ellian smiled sadly. "You're just... I don't know. You're my favorite person, James, and I don't want to toss you in the friend-zone but I just can't find the fireworks. Never have."

But she had said that the one you loved was like your best mate. 

James had kept his emotions well-contained until now, too focused on Ellian to mind the spiderweb of fractures building up on the surface of his heart. It didn't hurt as much as make him queasy, as if someone else's hands were moulding it, stretching it beyond its capabilities. It was muscle, not taffy.

The heave of Ellian's shrug lifted her shoulders like a bowl. "It's totally me, not you. I've been thinking maybe I'm just not made like that — fireworks and everything. It wouldn't be fair of me to say I love you back the same way. I love you as much as a friend can... up to but not including the kissing bits."

I love you. _I love you._

The epitome of blasé, she didn't even seem to notice it and James practically went agape. "Wait, so you _do_ love me?" 

"Of sorts," she said, turning pink, "but not in the love you're looking for."

He was aware he was staring at her like a loon (both the waterfowl kind of loon and the loony kind of loon), and practically squawked out the next word as his throat couldn't keep up with the excitement. " _Technicality!_ "

James took both of her hands in his, which may have not been the best idea in his haste, because Ellian immediately shuffled backwards, giving them the biggest shock from carpet static.

Clearing his throat and taking her hands slowly this time, he started again, "A very wise girl once told me that love is when someone makes you happy and you want to make them happy."

Ellian paused. "Did I really say that?" Another pause. "God, that's cheesy. You're rubbing off — "

"Ells, you're ruining the moment."

"Oh."

He wondered if half the reason he fancied her was just because she was so _bad_ at this (rather sadistic of him, no surprise). Then again, he wasn't an expert on love either, and at least she wasn't trying to write a book on it.

"But," said Ellian, hands tensed as if about to take flight, "it's no different than how we are now."

"That's okay, I like now." He had fallen in love with now-Ellian.

"But will you still want this later and nothing more? Are you okay with that?"

They had stumbled far off the planes of his knowledge now. So, he was in love with his friend who loved him back but not in the same way but technically she did — whatever that even meant. Was he okay with that?

"So this means you might feel those fireworks for someone else?" James asked tentatively. 

"I don't know. I haven't felt that way about anyone before."

"And you never want to kiss me."

"Things could change but... I don't know."

"And you just consider me your best mate."

"I guess but..." Ellian shrugged.

She wasn't giving him very much to go on.

But when James followed her intermittent glances at him, he saw that she knew as little as he did and was stumbling around scared just the same. 

That was the moment. Everyone knew that the _real_ purpose of a self-help book was to get the point — the epiphany moment — where one could chuck it over their shoulder and make their own rules. James hadn't even written his and he was already hurling it into a lake.

But if he had written it, he would have put only one line: _no one knew what they're doing._

Sometimes the worst pick-up line was the best. Sometimes the boy will get the girl, even when she was twenty thousand leagues under the sea out of his league, and sometimes he won't. Sometimes you had to make it up as you go along.

At that moment, James threw out everything in his head and dug out what mattered. "We don't need to make this anything if you're not comfortable." He stopped clasping her hands so tightly and her slender fingers seemed to float above his. "But sometimes, I might want to kiss you. If you can bear with that, I can bear that I won't get that kiss. You're the best thing I've got, Ells. I just want you."

He watched Ellian's stare change into one no short of pure, utter wonder as her smile broke through to her cheeks, wide and blinding. If he had a camera, he would have taken a picture of that moment, except Ellian hated having her photo taken, and the last frame would be something like trying to wrench the camera away from him.

But no matter, he wasn't forgetting her smile anytime soon.

Then Ellian leaned forward and kissed him.

It was more of a peck and his mind blanked out longer than it lasted. He had kissed and been kissed before, but this was different — light and warm but somehow familiar.

When James lifted his half-closed eyes, she was sitting back in her chair, wide-eyed.

He gulped. "How was that?"

"...I don't know."

James couldn't help but crack up. "What do you mean you _don't know?_ "

"I don't know!" Ellian huffed and slapped his arm. "How was it for you?"

His heart had fluttered like a — well, no, it was more like a zooming — er, chugging —

"I don't know."

They burst out laughing at the same time. Heads turned to stare, but the pair didn't mind.

Ellian bit her lip. "...no fireworks though."

"It's nothing to feel guilty about."

"I wish they were there." She gazed down to where one of his hands still covered her own and turned around her own to have palm meet palm. "You're the best thing I've got, too."

That was all he wanted.

* * *

James finally convinced Ellian to go to the ball. It was a simple tactic: ask a lot until she would go just to shut him up.

He was spectacularly excited for no particular reason. She was halfway up the staircase back to her own dorm, when he called, "You look beautiful." 

Ellian rolled her eyes. "You say that _after_ I'm in my dress."

"Sorry, a bit eager."

She rolled her eyes the other way. Fancying her was the best decision ever.

As soon as Ellian was gone, James ran to his room and pulled out his formal wear stuck at the bottom of his drawer. He racked his brain for the anti-wrinkling spell, gave up and put it on anyway, and started shoving his feet into his shoes and his neck into his tie.

He was doing both at the same time when Ellian arrived in a stunning green dress and James found himself staring into the eyes of the most beautiful girl in the room — never mind that she was the only girl in the room — and he wondered how he ever called her the spawn of Aragog.

He also figured out that hopping around on one foot while tying his shoelaces and staring at her was likely to result in crashing into his wardrobe, which he promptly did.

"You look beautiful," he said, voice muffled in the clothes pile.

They managed to get to the ball with considerably less floundering. Thank Merlin they were going, because James would not want to miss this embarrassment for anything. There were girls decked out like flower pots and boys decked out like flower pots and shuffling that was supposed to pass for dancing, but looked more like people who didn't know how to run. The Champions looked pretty good, he supposed, after so much of the Headmasters' fussing.

By the stage, Fred was with his lady-love Prietta, nodding ever so enraptured at her French, never mind that he didn't understand a lick of it beyond pastry names. He gave James a thumbs up upon spotting him, and James immediately launched into an explanation on how he and Ellian weren't like _that_ but they _were_ except _not_.

That brought a new question into his mind.

"So what are we?" James asked after leaving Fred to his mooning. He swung the arm that joined him and Ellian, grinning at passer-bys. 

Ellian shrugged, tapping her empty glass against her chin. "We don't need a label."

"This is coming from the girl who loves organizing."

"That's not remotely related."

"Really?" He arched a brow. "Because if you ever got yourself one of those label stamp things, may Merlin help us all."

"That would not — " She waggled the champagne glass at his nose. "You'd have 'ignoramus' stuck on your head by now."

"Joke's on you, because I don't know what that means." James stuck out his tongue, and at the same time, gripped her hand tighter. "We're strange aren't we, Ells? I don't think any other couple — we we're not a couple but, er — see, this is why labels are important."

Ellian laughed and the glint of the candles overhead shone in her merry eyes. "How about just 'us'?"

"All right, I don't think anyone but us would be okay with this arrangement. Makes us kind of special."

"It's not a competition."

" _Everything's_ a competition."

They stopped at the edge of the dance floor, where throngs of students were putting one foot in and one foot out out like the hokey pokey as they decided whether to dance or not. Albus seemed to have done pretty well for himself having found multiple dates — Potions partner Bea and cousin Lucy — who were dragging him to the floor, one arm each. They joined hands in a circle, twirling round and round like a renegade merry-go-round, toppling nearby waltzers as they sped up.

James turned to Ellian, who immediately stiffened because she probably knew exactly what he was about to say. "Let's dance."

"James..."

Luckily, she relented without him asking two dozen times (asking her to the ball took a total of two dozen minus two). He was particularly excited because he knew she was going to be _terrible_ at it.

She met his exact expectations five steps in. She squashed his foot as he turned right and she moved forward, and James was very thankful male formal attire involved closed-toe shoes.

"Ells, why are you leading?"

"I skipped the dance classes," Ellian whispered back. "I'm just doing what you're doing."

"Yeah, that's the problem." He nudged her away a particularly enthusiastic couple dancing like they were trying to win the salsa championships, never mind that the orchestra was still playing a waltz. "How about this: you lead, I follow. I've always wanted to be twirled."

She gave him a look but she didn't roll her eyes this time, and she even stepped back and performed a grand gentleman's bow to preclude their role switch. James would say he grew on her, but then again, they had been like this for as long as he could remember.

They certainly weren't conventional, but when was love ever?


End file.
